Of Schemers and Scholars
by The Loremaster Alchemist
Summary: The Scholar, raised by the Schemer in the place that should never have been. Book I of the Scholarly Pursuits.
1. The Obligatory Disclaimer

You are one of many hundreds who sit in the room. It is dark, almost too dark to make out anything of any real significance. What little you can see tells you that it is rather large, designed to seat thousands at a time and yet somehow retains a sort of cozy feeling. You are not quite certain what you are doing here, but you are almost certain that you are dreaming.

Before long, the chatter and noise of the other occupants of the room ceases. A light shines down from somewhere in the room, making a circle upon what appears to be a wooden stage. All is silent.

And then there is the sound of footsteps.

They are slow and deliberate, and with every step there is the tell-tale sound of someone walking with support. Into the circle of light steps a young man, no older than eighteen. He stands at around six feet in height and in his pale hand he holds a wooden staff just as tall. His long, dark brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, whilst a pair of thin glasses sit before matching eyes. From the ground up, he is wearing a pair of black leather boots, black trousers and a white shirt with a black waistcoat with a matching tie. There is a silver ring on the forefinger of each hand, engraved with arcane symbols and ancient runes. About his neck, there hangs a silver pentacle on a chain. Over the whole, there is a black leather duster, obviously well-worn and loved. And then the silence is broken, for in a clear and mildly aristocratic voice, he begins to speak.

"Sing, O Muse, or speak, or dance, and so your audience entrance: For voice, or step, or gilded phrase - each art shall mortal minds amaze. But Muse, ensure whatever work is safe from harmful law and clerk, the legal hounds who howl at we who honor creativity. Who honors more an artist's skill? The fan who will the soul distill from artistry, and so conceive new tales from what that art achieved? Or one who simply reads a book and even if their heart is hooked, tells none, nor lets their minds be swept to lands where untouched tales are kept? But yet let needful words be said, which still I treat with grief and dread: I own the narration within, but not the world it happens in. It isn't hard to separate my words from those I emulate. What's mine is mine, what's not is not, I lay no claim to other plots. So guard, Calliope, and Sing! The humble words which I might bring would in your speech flourish and thrive, in ways I could scarcely contrive. And listener, if you would allow just one more moment, here and now to introduce my nascent glory — Sit back, relax and enjoy the story."

The room is understandably silent. It's kind of difficult to respond to something like that. Taking note of this, the man smiles, and continues.

"My Lords, ladies and gentlemen. My friends, old and new. I welcome you to this, my home where all fictional dimensions converge, the Library of Eldritch Lore. Our collection is an extensive one, ranging from the mystical to the mundane. Artifacts line the walls, ancient creatures walk our halls and even I am unsure what some of them are. Allow me to introduce myself. I go by many names and titles, but you may call me Rorek. Rorek C. Literatus, also known as the Loremaster Alchemist. I am the autistic and eternal curator, creator and owner of this facility. These are my assistants."

He bangs his staff upon the ground once. A light shines down behind him, illuminating a reasonably attractive young woman, with something of an Asian air about her. She is dressed in a black skirt, with a white shirt and brown waistcoat. At her throat is a red tie and she wears sensible shoes on her feet.

"Firstly, Ms. Mirage Nightray, silver-tongued and fond of illusions. She enjoys a good book and long walks on the beach."

He bangs his staff again. A second light appears, revealing another woman of comparable age to the first. She has glasses and shoulder length mousy brown hair and is dressed the same as Ms. Nightray.

"Secondly, Ms. Belladonna. She likes to draw and write occasionally, and like myself, she is autistic."

Once more, he bangs his staff upon the stage. A third light illuminates a girl, younger than the others, dressed in the same manner as the first two. Long, light brown hair falls down her shoulders.

"Finally... Well, she doesn't exactly have a name. I usually just call her Little Mad, for that is what she is. Poor thing was born insane. Of course, that's not always a bad thing."

A fourth bang and the lights go out. He is alone upon the stage once more.

"Good people, I have gathered you all here to hear a story of my own devising. The settings and characters will likely seem familiar to some of you, for they are not all of my creation. But the story is mine, and mine alone."

The light begins to fade. He turns and walks back into the darkness, leaning on his staff as he does so. His voice rings out, echoing about the room.

"And so it is without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, we begin this, the first part of the grand and glorious saga entitled 'The Scholarly Pursuits'. Assuming you're all sitting comfortably, that is."


	2. Milk: It does Nobody good

Once upon a time, something was written, and as it was written, so it would come to be, and what was written was this.

_When Darkness reigns and times are dire,_

_There shall come a Hero, brave._

_And with Bookworm's Aid and with Dragon's Fire,_

_The Worlds shall all be saved._

That is what was written on the first page of the Book of Prophecy, after the worlds first began to turn.

Let no man say otherwise, lest the truth be lost to the ages.

* * *

Our story begins in the Dark City, during the early hours of the morning of October 31st, 1980. Zexion was leaving the Castle That Never Was to collect the milk that inexplicably appeared on its doorstep every morning. No one knew _how _the milk got there, but they certainly weren't complaining. Inexplicably appearing milk was better than no milk at all, and it was free to boot. It had appeared on every single morning since they had moved into the castle. So you can imagine the look of surprise on the Schemers face when he noticed that on this particular morning there was no milk. This look was quickly followed by one of shock, for where the milk should have been there was a bundle instead. It moved. His curiosity now fully aroused, he walked over to the bundle and looked inside. What he saw left him reeling, incredulity upon his face.

It was a baby.

A boy to be precise. That in itself was not surprising, after all thousands of babies were boys. No, what was surprising was the fact that the baby was _here_. Aside from the Organization, the Dark City was uninhabited, which meant that the baby must have come from somewhere else. He checked the bundle for a note or a card, anything that might tell him where the child had come from, but all he found was a book bound in black leather. The outline of a pentacle was adorned upon the cover in silver thread. Intrigued, he tried to open it. His fingers brushed against the cover, and a jolt of pain shot through his mind. It wasn't much, but it stopped him trying again. He put the book back, and turned his attention upon the child.

Zexion looked at it. The baby stared back with amethyst eyes, wide with curiosity. He held out a finger. Small, inquisitive hands reached up and grasped it. He smirked, amazed that the baby was impressed so easily. Then the baby smiled.

That did it.

Without a word, he picked up the bundle and the baby within, and strode back inside the castle. The milk could wait. Only one thing bothered him.

"How am I going to explain this to the Superior?"

And so began this, the tale of one who was lost in another before his own could be told as it should have been.


	3. Bloody Hell!

Zexion entered the kitchen, baby in hand, and was surprised to discover that he wasn't alone. Xemnas was kneeling in front of the fridge. A small smile graced the Schemers features.

"Good morning, Superior."

"Good morning, Zexion. Do you know where the milk is? I can't seem to find - What is that in your arms?"

Zexion rolled his eyes. He was about to answer him when the rest of the Organization portaled in. No doubt the smell of the bacon currently sizzling on the stove woke them up. His smile fell. Seeing that he had no choice, he soldiered on.

"No, I do not know where the milk is. And 'that', as you so gracefully put it, is Mortimer."

Xemnas' face was a picture of astonishment. "Mortimer? Who is Mortimer?"

"This is Mortimer," Zexion said, indicating the baby. "I found him on the castles doorstep in place of this mornings milk."

"And why is he currently asleep in your arms?"

At this Zexion faltered. He had known that he would be forced to make a choice, and he had made it on his way back into the castle. He just hoped that it was the right one. Taking a deep breath, he took the plunge.

"Because Superior, I intend to keep him."

There was a beat.

"Do you mind if I ask why?" said Xemnas.

Zexion launched into the explanation that he had prepared earlier. "Of course, Superior. This boy appeared on our world, which is next to impossible for anyone outside the Organization. We have no way of knowing who he is or who his parents were, or even where he's from. As the one who found him, I feel that I should be the one to take care of him and replace what he has lost. As such, I have given him a new name. Hence, Mortimer."

The rest of the Organization had listened to all of this with rapt attention, none of them speaking a word. This silence continued for several seconds, until it was broken by Luxord.

"Bloody hell!"

Everyone stared at him in surprise. Mortimer (now awake) laughed. This too continued for several seconds, until Zexion drew their attention away by turning back to Xemnas.

"I have given him a name. Will you give him a home?"

Xemnas appeared to contemplate this for a while. After a few minutes had passed, he nodded his head in acquiescence.

"He will be welcome here. Does young Mortimer have a last name?"

Zexion thought for a moment, and then grinned.

"Shade. Mortimer Shade."

"Well then Mortimer Shade, welcome to your new home!"

Mortimer gurgled softly and looked up at his new father, who smiled.

And with that, the Nobodies of Organization XIII swarmed around their new arrival.


	4. Morbid like a fox!

It was evening by the time Zexion returned to his room, taking Mortimer with him. It had been a long day, what with gaining a son and everything, and he needed sleep. Upon entering, he cast an eye over it, inspecting the work the Dusks had done. Satisfied, he undressed Mortimer and helped him put on his new spider silk pyjamas. As he undressed and got ready for bed, his eyes fell upon Mortimer, currently fast asleep in his new crib. His thoughts turned back to the day's events.

After Xemnas had decided that Mortimer could stay, Zexion had decided to go out and buy some of the things that they would need. As such, he had left Mortimer in Luxord's care, as the little boy seemed to like him, and departed for Halloween Town. Contrary to popular belief, the citizens of Halloween Town do have children, and given the Schemer's personal tastes, it seemed the ideal place to shop for one. Plus, they were having a sale owing to it being Halloween that day. As a result, Mortimer's crib appeared to have been fashioned from the ribcage of some long-dead animal. His rattle consisted of a femur attached to the bottom of a miniature skull with teeth within it. His mobile was a swarm of bats, which played 'This is Halloween' when it was wound up. He also bought him a stuffed Wight Knight toy.

After perusing the small selection of clothes on offer, Zexion had decided to get some custom made. So he had gone back to the castle to retrieve the necessary measurements, and then he had set out again, this time for the Land of the Dead and the Black Widow seamstresses. After presenting them with the necessary designs, they had presented him with a copy of _The Skull _to peruse while he waited. There was a picture of a blue woman and a young man on the cover, accompanied by the headline '**BRIDE MARRIES BREATHER!'** He spent the next hour in a fairly pleasant manner, doing the crossword (in record time of course), and playing around with the Wight Knight he had bought. He was just making it dance when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly, and noticed the spider sitting there.

"We're finished." She said, jerking a leg towards a pile of neatly folded clothes. "There should be enough there to last you a few months. They won't break, as they are woven of the finest gossamer, and should stretch as their wearer grows. What do you want them for? If you don't mind my asking that is?"

Zexion grinned. He had been itching to tell somebody all day.

"I have a son."

The Widow squealed (Well, about as much as a spider could anyway).

"A son? Really? What's his name?"

"Mortimer. Mortimer Shade."

Zexion thanked the spiders, and paid for his purchases. He opened a corridor, and returned to the castle. After handing the crib to the nearest Dusk, with instructions to set it up next to his bed, he set out in search of Luxord and by extension, Mortimer. This took quite some time, owing mainly to the sheer size of the castle, but he eventually found them in the Grey Area. Luxord was sitting on one of the armchairs, a cup of tea in hand, and Mortimer was playing on the floor with some paper. He appeared to be dressed in one of Luxord's old T-shirts, which while being far too big for him, at least kept him covered. The boys amethyst eyes lit up when he saw Zexion approaching, and he stretched his small arms out for a hug. Though nobody noticed, the paper twitched. Zexion lifted the baby into his arms and smiled. Mortimer laughed softly, and grabbed a handful of steel blue hair. The Schemer chuckled, and ruffled a tuft of black.

"I missed you too," he said.

Setting Mortimer back on the floor, he took a seat opposite Luxord. "How was he?"

The Gambler took a sip of tea and smiled. "He was as good as gold. What did you buy?"

Grinning, Zexion emptied the bag. He handed the bone rattle to Mortimer, who after shaking it a few times, immediately popped it in his mouth. Luxord looked at him warily for a moment, and said "Is that sanitary?"

Zexion thought for a moment, and then nodded. "It should be. It's been sterilised, and I had it enchanted to repel dust and grime, as well as make it unbreakable." Taking the Wight Knight out of the bag, he set it down on the floor. Upon seeing this, Mortimer immediately threw the rattle to the side and embraced the Heartless plushie, sighing contentedly. Luxord chuckled, and said, "Bit morbid, isn't he?"

Zexion smiled and said, "Takes after his dad." The two Nobodies laughed at this, and continued to watch Mortimer's antics for the rest of the afternoon.


	5. Papercuts

All was quiet in the Dark City. The Shadows were still, and the Nobodies were napping. The unseen choir whose voices filled the streets and alleyways had called it a night and gone home. Contrary to popular belief, the choir was not actually employed by the Organization. They had simply shown up one day, dubbed themselves the Choir Invisible, and started work. They hadn't missed a day since. No Nobody knew why they were there, or how. All they knew was that, as the Heartless left them alone and they didn't appear to be a threat, they were welcome to stay. And that they enjoyed the occasional jam session with Demyx. And Xigbar if he could be bothered to get his trumpet out. But (to return briefly to the plot) all was quiet in the Dark City. The Shadows were silent, and the Nobodies were napping.

Except one.

Within the hallways of the Castle that Never Was, a figure moved. It ran through the corridors with inhuman speed and silence, darting past door after door like a bolt of lightning shot from the dark clouds above. It was quite impressive actually, especially as it proved that women CAN run in high heels, although most aren't any good at it. It was not long before the figure reached her destination: A door marked **VI. **Hands trembling with anticipation, she reached out and opened the door. She entered the room, and closed the door behind her. Then she stopped and stood still in awe and shock.

While she had known that Zexion was partial to a midnight snack, she had had no idea that he could eat so much. What appeared to be the carcass of some long dead beast lay next to the Schemer's bed. She stayed in that state for several minutes. And then she saw him.

Mortimer Shade.

The figure crossed the room to the cradle, summoning a set of vicious-looking knives into her hands as she did so. This child would learn to fear her. She loomed above the cradle, her knives raised above her head, crackling with electricity. And then the Schemer woke up.

"Larxene? Care to explain what you are doing?"

Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice. She shot him a glance, before turning her attention back to Mortimer, who incidentally was just waking up, a small smile on his lips. No Nobody could have predicted what happened next. A single sheet of paper fluttered from where it had lain on Zexion's desk, and flew towards Larxene. Once it reached her thigh, it stopped and hovered in place. Larxene looked at Mortimer; eyebrow raised, and opened her mouth to speak. She was interrupted however, as the paper suddenly began move around her body, spiralling upwards at great speed and then clapping itself firmly over Larxene's mouth. Her coat began to unravel, peeling like an apple, proving what Zexion had always suspected, but never known until this glorious moment.

The Savage Nymph didn't wear underwear.

She looked down at herself. Then she looked at Mortimer, who was now giggling. She looked at Zexion. Zexion looked at her, staring intently. She tried to scream, but couldn't owing to the sheet of paper still gracing her features. Then she turned tail, wrenched the door open, and ran.

It took Zexion several seconds to snap out of his stupor. Then he picked up Mortimer without a word, and headed in the general direction of the Library of Forgotten Tales.


	6. Nevermore

Once upon a midnight dreary, there was a Schemer who (though weak and weary) sat pondering over his Lexicon of Indescribable Lore. Whilst he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping – rapping at the Library door. "Tis some visitor," he muttered, "tapping at the Library door – Only this and nothing more."

But it wasn't. For when Zexion arose from his seat to look, there was no one there. After scanning the room for an explanation, he noticed that Mortimer was kicking his legs while he slept. After their earlier encounter with Larxene, Zexion had brought Mortimer to the Library with him so that he might keep an eye on him while he looked for answers. The little boy had curled up on one of the more spacious shelves, and had promptly fallen asleep, using the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe as a makeshift pillow. Zexion returned to his seat, and picked up the Indescribable Lore once again. An hour later, he grew bored, and closed the book. After thinking for a moment, he had an idea. With a wave of his hand, the book vanished and the Arcane Compendium appeared in its place. He opened it at the contents and moved his finger down the page until he found what he was looking for. Checking the page number, he flicked through the book, eyes scanning page after page after page. When he came to a page titled 'Paper Mastery', he stopped and began to read. Here follows the knowledge contained therein:

_There are many worlds, and many who dwell upon them. Many of these people possess special skills or abilities, some of which are rarer than others. It is amongst these rarer gifts that Paper Mastery can be found. Paper Mastery is the psychokinetic ability to control and manipulate paper. While that may not seem like much, it is often all a Paper Master needs (aside from paper of course!).The edges of the paper could be sharpened to act as a makeshift blade. Imagine receiving a paper cut on your arm, but your arm is made of diamond. You would lose your arm. The papers density can also be controlled, strengthening it to a level to rival that of steel, with almost no visible effects on the papers appearance. The paper could then be used as a shield, one strong enough to stop bullets in their tracks, and to defend from most explosions. The amount of paper one would require to pull off such a feat differs depending on how skilled the user is. An inexperienced Paper Master might require a thick book to block bullets, whilst an experienced one would need but a single sheet. Individual pages can be 'chained' together to form a variety of weapons (the most common being swords, staves and bows), as well as a wide range of other constructs. The paper can be controlled telekinetically as well, as long as at least one piece is held onto. It should be noted that these are only some of the abilities that Paper Mastery confers upon the user, and that the paper is still susceptible to anything that can burn it or get it wet. Only the most powerful Paper Masters have been known to overcome these weaknesses, and even then they have not been able to for very long. The ability is genetic in origin, and almost always manifests itself as an extreme form of bibliophilia, one that occasionally borders on full-blown bibliomania. A Paper Master is happiest when reading, and will often go to great lengths in order to continue doing so, occasionally blocking out all else. As a result of this, many Paper Masters grow up lacking some of the essential social skills that come so naturally to the rest of us. _

Zexion put the book down on the table in front of him, and contemplated what he had learned. His son was a Paper Master. A Paper Master was capable of great things. And often had an addiction to reading. This was too much for his sleep-deprived body to handle, and making sure that Mortimer was still sleeping; he curled up in his chair and closed his eyes. One thing more passed his lips.

"At least there's no shortage of books!"

And then sleep claimed him.


	7. Dreaming

Zexion was dreaming. He was dreaming a dream unlike any he had ever dreamt before, and it felt strange to him. He dreamt of the things that had happened, and of the things that had not, and of things that may yet occur (though as to whether or not they would was anybody's guess). He dreamt of a strange and fantastic world, and of a castle on a hill near a vast lake. He dreamt of a library, shelves stacked upon shelves stretching high towards the ceiling, filled to the brim with books, and of a very old, and very wise man who watched over it. He dreamt of Larxene. And he dreamt of his son, of little Mortimer, who had made him experience the closest thing to joy he had felt since before he lost his heart. It was a good dream, and if it were it not for the fact that Mortimer needed him, Zexion would have gladly spent the rest of his non-existence lost within its depths. However, it has been proven time and time again that all good things must come to an end. But not yet. The night was not over, and Zexion was determined to hold on to his dream for as long as he could before rising.

After all, good dreams are hard to come by.

Everything is made up of Light and Darkness, and Time is no exception. Though on this world the sky remained dark, on others the Sun was rising. The Worlds were waking from their slumber and a new day was dawning, an unwritten page of the masterpiece that is History. The night had passed. Day had come.


	8. An Author's Apology and his Promise

To give a full account of Mortimer's childhood would take more time than I have to spare at the moment, and we shall therefore save both my time and your own by mentioning that time did what it does best.

Time passed.

Weeks went by, turning into months, which turned into years. Many things happened in that time, but for the sake of brevity we shall only go over those events that had any significant impact on the events to come.

Following the events of that night, the Schemer and the Nymph grew somewhat closer together. I shall simply state that when one non-being sees another being forcibly declothed by a boy no more than a year old, strange things can happen. We shall leave it at that for the moment.

Before he could walk, Mortimer was taught to read. Whilst there may be those among you who find this difficult to believe, I would point out the fact that the boy was a Paper Master, renowned for their ability to read.

When he reached the tender age of five, he tasted that delectable ambrosia known to the world at large as tea for the first time, and was subsequently and somewhat understandably hooked. This caused the bond between the boy and his godfather the Gambler to strengthen.

It was at that age that he began to receive an education from his father, occasionally supplemented with lessons from the Academic. He possessed a mind curious by nature, eager to learn and hungry for knowledge. This desire to know gifted him with a large volcabulary, and would serve him well in his later years.

At the age of six, he began to grow his hair in an effort to emulate his father to a degree. At first, he simply wore it long, allowing it to fall as it would. Often, he simply left it as it was upon waking up, regardless of the mildly ragged appearance it left him with. Eventually, however, he grew tired with having to brush it out of his eyes every couple of minutes and resolved to do something about it. Taking a cue from the Freeshooter, he began to tie it back into a ponytail, letting it dangle from the base of the neck.

At seven, he discovered that he felt so much more comfortable when dressed in certain clothes. He found his look, you might say. More specifically, he took to wearing a pair of black trousers with a white shirt and matching black waistcoat and necktie. Upon his feet went black leather boots, and over the whole went a Black Coat similar in design to the Schemers. The more astute among you might question this last addition to his ensemble, given that it changed whatever the wearer had beneath into something more in line with the Organizations apparent uniform, but I would remind you that despite being raised by Nobodies, Mortimer was still a Somebody and that he still had a Heart to stain. Whilst years of living so close to the Realm of Darkness had allowed him to build up something of a resistance to it, there was little point in taking chances. We can only assume that he either didn't realise that his clothing changed, knew and felt comfortable with the fact that he was wearing his outfit beneath it all, or that he knew and simply didn't care.

In the January of what would be his eighth year, it was discovered that Mortimer desperately needed glasses. It is somewhat surprising that this fact was not discovered earlier, given the severity of his eyesight.

It is on his eighth birthday that this narrative shall recommence. Perhaps one day, I will find the time and inclination to tell you the full tale.


	9. Damned Waltzes

"So, why do I have to do this again?"

"Because your parents would like you to learn, and I have graciously agreed to help instruct you. Now let's try it again."

"But Uncle! I..."

"You can have your tea when you've finished. Okay?"

"Okay..."

Mortimer Shade was not having a good day. He had spent the last hour stood in the Hall of Empty Melodies, hands around Naminé's waist, whilst his Uncle Luxord played the piano in an attempt to teach him to waltz.

"Ready, Naminé?"

The blonde girl raised her head to look at him, and nodded.

"Yes, sir, I am."

Luxord looked down at the two from the balcony.

"Then by all means, let's begin. Don't forget to bow, Mortimer!"

"Yes, Uncle!"

Luxord flexed his fingers, before running them over the keys, and started an excellent rendition of Chopin's Waltz in E Minor. Mortimer turned to face Naminé, and bowed. Naminé curtsied in turn. He placed his right hand lightly on her waist, while she rested her left upon his shoulder. He took her remaining hand in his, raised his arm, bent his elbow and they began to dance.

It went slowly at first. They stayed in the middle of the floor, as Mortimer was not yet used to the steps. It wasn't long, however, until they became as second nature to him. He began to gain confidence in his movements, and took the lead. They glided about the hall, a swirling mass of black and white, like two opposing forces brought into balance merely for this moment. If he could have felt happiness, Luxord was sure he would have cried. As it was, he couldn't, and so he continued to play. A thought struck him suddenly, and he grinned. At his mental summons, a Dusk appeared.

"Do a favour for me, would you? Put the kettle on!"

The Dusk gave a salute to show it had understood, and vanished, presumably to the kitchens.

The piece soon drew to a close, and with it Mortimer slowed. He manuveured them back towards the centre of the room, where they danced in place, stopping only after the music had faded. Mortimer disengaged himself, stepped back, and bowed once more.

"Thank you, Naminé."

"Thank you."

The sound of clapping filled the hall, echoing off the walls.

"That was wonderful! Both of you! Well done!"

Mortimer looked up at his Uncle, taking note of the cup of tea in his hand. "There had better be one for me up there!" he said.

Luxord laughed. "Of course! And one for you too, Naminé."

And with that, the pair ran towards Naught's Skyway.


	10. A Halloween Town Birthday

****_ Tuesday October 31st, 1989_

In the town of Halloween, just beneath the Curly Hill, a boy was sitting with his family. The scene was a simple one; they were obviously having a party of sorts, a theory supported by the nearby food-laden table, and by the pile containing no less than fifteen presents that lay next to it, and by the cake currently being held by the boys Father. That and they were singing. One of them sat atop the Hill, playing a tune on his Sitar. Nothing appeared to be wrong or out of place. Aside from the fact that nearly everyone (save for a girl, who wore a white dress) was clad in long black coats. By the time they had finished singing, the candles (which were fairly burned down to begin with) had almost reached their end. "Mortimer?" said the boy's father. "Make a wish."

The boy thought on this a moment, and then blew the candles out. Zexion rose from his seat, and carried the cake over to the table. Xaldin raised his hand, and at his behest the gifts rose into the air. The wind carried them into the circle, where it set them down. Mortimer waited for his father to rejoin them, and reached for the nearest present. The grey paper was unadorned save for a simple black ribbon, and a tag:

_Mortimer_

_Many Happy Returns_

_The Reviewers_

"Father?" said Mortimer. "Who are the Reviewers?"

Zexion looked at his son in surprise, and said, "The Reviewers were part of a bedtime story told to the children of Radiant Garden. The story tells of a race of beings that dwelt within the realms of Imagination. These people would hear about everything that happens, and then they would offer their opinions on it to the others. Hence the name 'Reviewers'. Why do you ask?"

Mortimer, who had by now unwrapped the box, replied, "They sent me a cookie." A silence followed, marred only by the sound of munching.

"A mythical race of all-seeing beings sent you a cookie?"

"It was Dark Chocolate Chip!"

"Right. Please, open another gift."

"Okay..."

And with that, Mortimer did. This next one was from his Uncle Luxord. Upon opening it, and seeing what lay within, there was only one thing that Mortimer could say. "What is it?" His uncle laughed. Clasped in Mortimer's outstretched hand was a rectangular blue box, with a slot in the top.

"That is a munny box," Luxord said. "You put your munny into the slot and it keeps it safe."

Mortimer frowned, and said "I don't think very much munny would fit."

"Don't worry!" Luxord replied. "It's bigger on the inside." Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Mortimer thanked his uncle, and laid the box to one side. Picking another present at random, Mortimer found himself the proud recipient of a large bottle of jelly beans, a gift from his Uncle Vexen. From his Uncle Axel he received a coupon for a years free supply of Sea Salt Ice Cream. His Uncle Marluxia gave him a dead rose; albeit jokingly. It hadn't worked, as Mortimer's expression proved. Demyx brought him a selection of fine t-shirts. Lexeaus gave him an Amethyst crystal, one of the more beautiful things Mortimer had seen in life thus far. The bulk of his presents were books, including such bestselling works as _Dracula, Evil Laughter for Beginners, _and a copy of the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe. Taking a moment to admire his acquisitions, and a moment more to offer his thanks, Mortimer made his way towards the table. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and cut the cake. And there was much rejoicing.


	11. Midnight by Moonlight with Monsters

_Wednesday 31__st__ October 1990 (12:00AM)_

_The Dark City_

High above the streets and alleyways of the city, a figure stood watching, his silhouette a perfect black against the moon. Clasped tightly in his gloved hand was a book, bound in black leather. He didn't think that he would need it, but he liked having the choice if he did.

Far beneath him, in the plaza below, a figure was walking. Aside from the leather satchel that hung from his shoulder, he was dressed in much the same way as the watcher. The same boots, the same gloves, the same coat, even the sleeves were similar. He may have been slightly taller.

The watcher had always known that this day would come. From the moment he had first held the child in his arms, he had been waiting for it. He had spent these past months in preparation for it. He had taught the boy to gain a basic level of control over his powers. His mother had taught him how to fight. He had made a fair amount of progress during the last few months. Now it would all be put to the test. The watcher removed his hood, and raised his hand in preparation.

The streets were quiet. The unseen choir had momentarily ended their song. One could easily have heard a pin drop. The boy stopped and stood in the centre of the square. The time had come.

Zexion snapped his fingers.

And it began.

Darkness flared into existence. There, facing his son was a Dual Blade. The Heartless leapt at him, its sword carving a path through the air, ready to cleave his head in two. There was a flash of white, and then the sound of blade striking blade. Mortimer Shade was holding a thin white longsword, and he had a smile on his face.

And then the choir burst into glorious song.

It was at moments like this that Zexion regretted not owning a camera. Mortimer extended his left arm, summoned a few sheets of paper from the bag on his back and held them in the air. With a wave of his hand, they twisted themselves into a form both aerodynamic and pointy. In other words, paper aeroplanes. Launching these at his foe, he charged. The Dual Blade swatted the projectiles harmlessly aside just in time to parry a blow to the head. Knocking the sword away, it slashed at the boy. Caught unawares, Mortimer was forced to retreat in order to escape the sword. The knight spun at him, blades whirling, coming dangerously close. Mortimer parried, and threw another aeroplane. Still reeling from the spin, the Heartless was unable to react in time and got it in the back of the leg. Mortimer brought out the paper in his sleeves. Within seconds of recovery, the Dual Blade found itself chained to the floor. While it struggled to free itself, Mortimer advanced upon it, sword held high. One swing and a cloud of Darkness later, the Heartless was gone. He had done it. He was ready.

And high above the streets and alleyways of the city, a figure stood watching, smiling with pride.


	12. A MidBattle Tea Break

_Thursday 1__st__ September 1991_

"Let's go through the list. Have you got your satchel?"

"Check."

"Your paper? Both in your satchel and up your sleeves?"

"Check and check."

"What about your potions?"

"I bought a kit."

"Good. Do you have your books? And your tea?"

"My pockets are full of both. Do you have the kettle?"

"I do. And the milk and sugar. Do you have any questions about the mission?"

"Where are we going?"

"I don't recall the name. Something about an Algae Sea, I think. Your father found it, and we are going to look it over. Any other questions?"

"Why can't I wear my pith helmet?"

"You know very well why not. Need I remind you of that time in Deep Jungle with Xigbar and the gorillas? That poor scientist is likely still in therapy. If you have no more questions, I think we're ready. Shall we go?"

"Yes Uncle."

And so the intrepid (and slightly mad) explorers embarked upon their adventure, stepping into the darkness of the unknown. After several minutes of wandering through that, they emerged on the other side. As the Corridor closed behind them, Mortimer gazed at his surroundings. They had stepped from the shadow into the widest street he had ever seen, flanked on either side by massive buildings and equally tall doors. These went on for as far as the eye could see, stopping often at large, irregular intervals. It was all really quite impressive. He had to clean his glasses. Twice. Mortimer glanced over at Luxord, who was crouching over a long, thick piece of wood. "Uncle?" he said.

Luxord looked up at him, and replied, "Yes?"

"Where are we?" Luxord stood up.

"I'm not entirely sure," he said. "But if this sign is to be believed, then we are standing within the city of Dor Ar eb. And we are not alone."

Mortimer smiled, and said "What makes you say that?"

"That does," Luxord replied. Mortimer turned just in time to see the Wyvern fall and fade into Darkness. It was then that he noticed the swarm of Heartless headed their way.

"Well," he said. "I'd say that's our cue to leave. Could you open the Corridor please?" Luxord hastily complied. They darted through it, running all the way. Luxord stubbed his toe. Twice. They re-emerged back at the foot of the Memory's Skyscraper, hearts (both actual and metaphorical) pounding.

"Do you know?" said Luxord. "I don't think I can wait to get back to the castle. Shall we have our tea now?" Mortimer nodded, and handed him some teabags.

The Wyverns began arriving just as the kettle began to sing. At first it was just one or two of them, then three or four more. By the time the tea was ready, they were surrounded. And so it came to pass that Mortimer Shade and his Uncle Luxord laid waste to the dread Wyvern Heartless. Armed only with paper, cards and a fresh cup of tea, they slaughtered their foes and emerged victorious afterwards. All without spilling a single drop. Then they tidied away after themselves and set out for the Castle That Never Was.

They had a tale to tell.


	13. A Tale Paused in the Telling

_Thursday 31__st__ October 1991 (8:00AM)_

It began, like many birthdays, with breakfast. A plate piled high with pancakes,with a light sprinkling of sugar and lemon juice, and a cup of tea to wash it down with. The usual birthday fare. The unfinished moon hung in the starless sky, shining in the dark. The choir was up and out in force, filling the streets with melancholy song. Mortimer was reading at the table, taking a bite of pancake and a sip of tea every few pages. All in all, it was a fairly normal day.

Elsewhere, on the world previously known as the Radiant Garden, an old man was enjoying his own early morning meal. He was wearing (as always) a sky-blue robe, with matching slippers and a tall pointy hat. His beard was both extremely long and occasionally troublesome. His appearance seemed to give off an aura of power. His bespectacled eyes held the sort of wisdom that one may only attain by having lived through many ages of the world (The fact that such people were uncommon, and yet easy to recognise was strangely unsurprising). He was just musing on the general normality of the day thus far, when a letter flew out of the fireplace and landed neatly on the table. This was quickly joined by a second. As such things do not occur often; the man was understandably shocked, and slightly annoyed. The second letter had knocked his bowl of Choco Pops off of the table. Any anger he may have felt at the loss of his favourite chocolaty cereal soon vanished, however, as soon as he noticed that the first of the letters was addressed to him. He opened it, and began to read. It began:

_My Lord,_

_We have encountered difficulty in delivering this letter to its intended reciepient. As it would be unfortunate if he were not to get it, we would like to beg your assistance._

There was more, but the man did not read it. He had seen all he needed to. And so, picking up the second letter and a piece of string, he shouted "ARCHIMEDES!"

* * *

_Eight hours later..._

Mortimer unwrapped the last of his presents, which was from Xigbar. It was a purple fez, which he promptly placed upon his head. It is worth noting at this point that Mortimer possessed a slight fondness for hats. He didn't wear one constantly, nor did he like every hat he came across. But he liked this one, and said as much, smiling to prove it. Zexion (who had given him a rather fetching tie) stared at it, and then at Xigbar, eyebrow raised. Xigbar merely shrugged, and said "What? Fezzes are cool."

At this, Luxord (who had brought him a travel kettle) piped up with "I agree. Fezzes are cool." Mortimer nodded. Zexion groaned. Roxas (from whom Mortimer had received a small number of books on origami) smiled. Naminé (who had managed to catch him in the corridor on his way to the Library that morning and given him a small peck on the cheek) giggled. And then they had cake.

And in the dark sky above the city, an owl was flying towards them.

* * *

Then the young man on the stage ceases his narrative and takes a bow.

"I thank you all for listening to my tale for so long and with such patience. Regrettably, I must now leave you, as certain matters demand my attention. Please, feel free to look around the Library as you wish. In the interest of safety, I would ask that you not touch anything. When you are ready to leave, simply speak to one of my assistants, and they will open the appropriate portal for you. It is my fond hope that you will visit us again."

And so saying, he turns and, leaning on his staff, exits stage left.


End file.
